


Happy Christmas

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Seventh year, non-voldemort au, original character—house elf, school age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Peter is sulking before leaving for Christmas holiday. Sulking and hiding. Hiding from Alice. That is, until Alice finds him.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 15
Collections: The Marauders Advent 2020





	Happy Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks and love to Frumpologist for the opportunity to contribute to this special fest! My prompt was Peter Pettigrew and a house elf ❤️ And I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> No alpha or beta. All errors are my own.

* * *

_Buggering Christmas in this bloody school with all of its ruddy enchanted mistletoe everywhere you turn._

To say Peter Pettigrew is unhappy tonight is an understatement of the highest degree. He’s not usually one for theatrics or exaggeration—that’s normally Sirius’ or James’ area of expertise—even Remus’ now that he thinks on it—but tonight calls for it. This whole stupid term calls for it, really. 

“More cocoa for the young Master Peter?” 

Peter blinks away from the wall he’s been staring a hole into. Crinkle, one of the kitchen elves, stands on the table in the kitchens, gesturing over his mug. Golden flames from the lit fireplace dance in his large, round eyes. His head tilts in question. 

“No, thank you, Crinkle.” Peter swirls his half-empty mug, lips twisting. “Sorry if I’m keeping you from whatever it is you need to do.” 

“Not keeping me at all, Master Peter. Crinkle is always happy to help young students at Hogwarts.” 

“Thank you. 

The elf leaves him for some sort of busyness, and Peter resumes his brooding. Yes. He’s well aware this is brooding and pouting. 

He’s done with this year, though. Done with all of it. Ready to leave school forever and never, ever, _ever_ have to see her again. Not if he can help it. 

His grip tightens around his mug. That doesn’t sound right. Doesn’t feel right. Not at all. 

He wants to see her again. For years to come. 

Just… sans one Frank Longbottom. Please and thank you. 

“Fat chance of that, though.” He buries a snarl, forcing all thought from his mind as he lifts the mug for a drink. He needs to forget. Needs to get lost in the sound of a crackling fire and deep silence. Needs to have more hot chocolate soon to get lost in something sweet for once in his—

“Hello, you.” 

He all but chokes at the sound of her voice. 

Because. 

It’s. 

_Her_. 

Alice. 

The one he’s come down to pine over-slash-forget about. 

He brings his mug down to the table a little to hard, and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper as he faces her. Charming.

No wonder she picked sodding _Frank_ all those years ago. Frank with all his poise and charm and refinement. Frank with his defined muscles and… 

_Bloody hell._

He doesn’t hate his housemate—just hates he has all that Peter wants. 

Namely, the beautiful witch still wearing her school robes walking towards Peter with a small, brightly wrapped present in hand. “Figured you’d be down here,” she says, smiling a little too brightly as she slips next to him on the bench. 

Peter swallows thickly. Then shrugs to cover it. Maybe she won’t have noticed. “Needed to be alone and away from all the end-of-term celebration.” 

“Right.” Her head bobs and the air is awkward between them. Awkward and just the worst, and Peter hates how it’s gotten between them this year. 

Loathes it. 

But…

Something in him has snapped. Something in him just cannot deal with it as usual. 

“Well, I’m glad I found you alone,” Alice says, sliding the wrapped present towards him. “Couldn’t leave tomorrow without giving you your Christmas present.” 

He wishes she could have. Wishes she would forget all about him. 

Maybe then he could forget all about _her._

But no. He doesn’t want that. Not really. 

“Thanks.” He accepts the gift, movements full of hesitation as he moves it to the other side of his mug. “I don’t have yours with me right now. Sorry.” 

“That’s all right.” She gives her head a small shake. “There’s always tomorrow. Or owl… If you’d prefer. Or forget again.” 

“Yeah.” Peter fingers the present, wondering if she wants him to opening. Hoping she does. And that what’s inside will say everything he longs to hear. With every fibre of his being…

“Can we just… talk about this?” She breaks through the building silence. 

No point in it, honestly. It’s obvious she’s going to shatter his heart once more, and he’ll be forced to swallow his pride and say it’s all fine, and—

“Please, Peter. Please?” 

_Please_. He meets her eyes now, finding all the hurt and sorrow of a friend who knows something’s wrong. Finding everything that wrecks him because he knows he’s the reason for it. And she knows why. 

_Of course, she does, you clod. The whole bloody school knows you’ve fancied Alice for ages. You’ve been a fool to think it was a secret. And that she would return your feelings in the end. Especially since Frank._

“We don’t… I already…” His throat tightens and his jaw clenches shut. He hates this. _Hates_ this. It’s impossible to bloody breathe, and he _hates_ this. “We don’t have to have The Talk. I already know. I know that you know. I know that it’s Frank. I’ve known forever. I was a fool for holding out this long. I’ve made your term miserable and don’t deserve for you to let me down easy.” 

“That’s not what I’m going to do, Peter.” 

Hope. Sweet and glorious hold floods his veins, and for the briefest of moments, he’s floating. Flying and drunk on beautiful _hope_. 

She looses a heavy sigh that crashes into his chest. Smashing and dashing every last ounce of hope. “I want us to _talk_. Have a conversation. Come out of this still friends.” She inches her hand across the table. Stops a sliver away from his. The warmth of her skin spreads over his hand, sinking down into his marrow—and they’re not even touching. “We’ve been friends for so long. We’ve survived being on the wrong end of James and Sirius pranks. You’ve helped me get the hang of flying. You’ve—we’ve… Merlin. Six-and-a-half years. That’s a lot.” 

“It is.” 

“It means a great deal to me.” Her eyes lock onto his. “Our friendship. And you. All of this time. I don’t want to lose it because you’re angry that I don’t love you the way you want me to.” 

_Friendship._ The word stings. It shouldn’t. He doesn’t want it to. 

Doesn’t change that it does. 

Almost as much as the admission that she doesn’t love him. Not like she loves Frank. 

“You mean a lot to me, too, Alice,” he says quietly, squashing the vindictive part of him that wants for a painful end to all of this. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t, but then I realise I don’t really wish that, and it’s all confusing and hard again. The only thing I always come back to is that you matter more to me than I can help.” 

She smiles at him. It’s watery and tentative, but one of her genuine smiles nonetheless. 

He’ll take it. Since she stopped short of holding hands, he’ll take anything he can get. 

“Please be honest with me, Peter.” She draws a sharp breath. Holds it. Then begins: “Have I led you on any in all this time? Frank and I—our families—it’s been—” Her words cease as her mouth clamps shut. 

There’s a tremble to her jaw now, and the tears now spill down her cheeks. 

Peter wants to die. 

Go back in time and stop himself for being such a moping prat all term. 

Cross the small distance between them and gather her into his arms and apologise for all of it. 

She waves him off as he starts to move, though. Sniffling and swiping at her tears she breathes in and out again. And says, “I know it’s not as common in other houses outside of Slytherin, but marriage contracts are always a possibility between just about any Pureblood family. There’s been an understanding between mine and Frank’s families since fifth year, and it’s to be official over the holiday. I need to know if I’ve ever given you the wrong impression. ” 

“No.” 

It’s isn’t a lie. She’s never lingered in dark hallways as Lily and James have. They’ve never had explosive arguments that bordered on teenage foreplay. He’s never caught her staring at him across the room. Never been rumoured to blush when his name is brought up in a crowd. He’s the idiot who’s clung to whims, fantasies, and prayers. 

“It’s my fault for hoping. For wanting more. You and Frank, all the togetherness this term, it’s nothing new. Nothing I hadn’t expected either. It’s my fault for holding on still. ” 

“It’s not your fault.” She moves. So fast. Snatches her fingers over his in a hold that’s too fierce to be anything gentle. Anything that could be mistaken as a gesture of romance. “That is, you’ve been a brooding ogre at times this term, but you’re not at fault in having feelings. It happens. They happen. It’s not your fault they happened, just like it’s not my fault I never felt anything back.” 

He squeezes her fingers back, staring at the marvel of her skin touching his. “I never said it was.” 

“You’re certainly acted as though it was all term.” 

He winces. “I didn’t mean to—” 

“I know, but you did.” Her voice turns watery again. “You did and you have, Peter, and that’s why we need to talk. I don’t deserve to be silenced out of conversation or ignored like I’ve accidentally killed your owl. None of this is anyone’s fault. Frank has always been my best friend after Lily, and you know I started to have a crush on him third year. You saw how happy I was when he first asked me to Hogsmeade. And then how I couldn’t focus on anything for weeks after our parents drafted that marriage contract. I told him I loved him this past summer. This is nothing new, and if I’ve never led you on, I am _not_ your enemy.” 

His throat bobs in a hard swallow. “I know.” 

“Well, some part of you doesn’t know that, and I miss you. I miss my friend.” 

“It hurts, Alice.” He drops her hand and scoots away on the bench. Creating space he doesn’t want, but knows he needs. “It’s hard and it hurts. I’ve been good to separate the wanting and accepting what we are for a long time. We’re getting on now, though. People are really pairing off now, and it’s hard.” 

She has no answer for him. Not for a very long stretch. He looks from her to the table, to his mug, to the present, the ceiling, and back to her. She’s wound her arms around her middle in that time, and he wants to hold her. 

Knows he can’t. Because she doesn’t want him to. 

“I won’t insult you by saying I know or understand your pain.” Her head tilts and she licks her lips. “I’ve… never been hurt in rejection. I’ve been scared sometimes, and Frank and I have had our fair share of misunderstandings, but I think I’m lucky. I’ve known who I wanted, and I’m lucky enough he wanted me, too.” 

Peter snorts, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just like James.” 

“Actually, I think James does know a bit of what you’re feeling.” She drops her arms and laces her fingers together over her lap. “Maybe you can help him. Talk to him sometime over the holiday.” 

“What?” This isn't the direction he’d expected. At _all_. 

Alice lifts a shoulder. “For all her good qualities, Lily’s always loved the attention James gave her. She loved those public rejections and every chance to call him a toerag she could. He backed off and she went after him last year, and all seems perfect now. But I don’t think it is.” 

Barmy. She’s absolutely barmy. James is over the moon and back again being with Lily. “They’re together. He got the girl. How could it not be perfect?” 

“Because…” Alice’s face pinches in that adorable way. His heart twists into a thousand knots as she considers what she means. “What I mean is, she went to him confessing she’s liked him for a long time, right? Longer than she wanted to admit even to herself? But he was a prat still, and she wanted to succeed in school. And now he’s grown and she’s grown, and she wants to give them a chance?” 

Spot on. But he doesn’t want her to be right, not completely at least. “Something like that.” He folds his arms across his chest. “What else should she have said?” 

“So he _knows,_ ” she insists, and Peter is so lost. But he’d really like to be in on whatever Alice believes she knows. “James now knows she liked him and still rejected him year after year. He knows he didn’t have to make such a public spectacle of himself.” 

Peter scoffs at that. “James lives for the spotlight. Almost as much as Sirius does.” 

“But he could have been in the spotlight for other reasons other than humiliation by Lily Evans.” She’s leaning towards him now, insistent with her point. “I’m not saying they’re wrong for each other. I’m not even suggesting they break up. I’m pointing out that I can see it. James is still hurt. Lily hurt him. I don’t think she’s meant to—not every time. But James is cautious with her sometimes now. He needs some reassurance that he can talk to her about all that. That he _should_ talk to her about it. They need to deal with it if they’re going to amount to anything more than a flame before his parents start pressuring him with marriage and carrying on the family line.” 

“Why are you putting this on me?” She’s ludicrous if she thinks James will just allow him to waltz up and demand and heart-to-heart over Lily. “Remus is the insightful one.” 

“Bring him along, too,” Alice says. “I’m telling _you_ this, though, because _we_ are better friends. Because _we_ needed to talk, and because I think _you_ braver than Remus.” 

“You’re joking.” Peter’s brow jumps into his hairline as his eyes widen. 

“I’m not.” She shakes her head, firm and decisive. “You don’t just bottle things up. You were angry this term and you avoided me. You actually do something with all your feelings. Remus has this tendency to ignore things until they fade out. Or he’s so mad he doesn’t bother with that person ever again.” 

Peter can’t think of a response to that. Not immediately at least. He’s never considered his friends like this before… “Thanks,” he finally mutters. 

“I trust you. I want to keep being your friend. I want us all to remain friends for a very long time. I know that may be impossible because we’re all going to have jobs and families and change once we’re out of here…. But at least for now, I’d like to know I did what I could to help.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” She lifts a questioning brow at him.

“Yeah, okay.” He nods his reassurance. Tonight hasn’t cleared everything up, but… It’s helped. Impossibly enough.

“All right.” She bites down on her lower lip a moment, studying him. “And we’re… okay?” 

He shrugs back at her, deciding she deserves an honest answer. “I may not want to be present when you and Frank are lost in a moony-eyed moment, but no more bare minimum talk. No more avoiding you in study groups. No more sitting as far away from you as possible in the Common Room.” 

“Thank you.” She rises from the bench in a singular graceful motion. “Thank you so much, Peter. I… yes. Thank you. Are you coming back now?” 

He wants to say yes. Merlin, for all he’s promised, he wants to make this moment of togetherness and just the two of them to last as long as he can. To take advantage of one final long, slow walk back up to Gryffindor tower. 

He can’t, though. He _won’t._

“Not yet.” He waves a hand over his mug, the contents likely now cold and unpleasant. “I think I’ll finish off this hot chocolate and think I may see if I can get some ginger biscuits, too.” 

“Okay.” She nods at him and gives a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t forget your present” 

“I won’t.” He waves back. “See you.” 

“Good night, Peter.” 

“Good night, Alice.” 

He wonders if she’ll linger. If she’ll say anything else. Look deep into his eyes. Hold his gaze. Give a hint of any smoldering flame that she’s been denying this entire conversation…

None of these things happen, though. Not a single one. 

She doesn’t wait for another word after he wishes her a good night. She glides out the door and doesn’t look back, her robes swishing around her ankles. 

Peter looses a low breath, everything inside him heavy and aching. 

And yet… 

Somehow lighter, too.

He decides he doesn’t want to analyse himself any more tonight though, and calls for Crinkle, asking for a platter of ginger biscuits. 

“Yes, sir. Happy to, Master Peter.” 

“Thanks,” he says as the large plate appears before him. His mug is magically full with steaming hot chocolate again, and he settles himself into a long night of silence and eating his feelings. 

Happy Christmas to him. 


End file.
